Thank you so much to all my epic reviewers, and my awesome readers!
Surprise! Early Update!
So… For those who care, some things have happened.
I moved out of my girlfriend's house. So I'm livin with my parents again. On the couch, cuz since my Auntie moved in there's no longer a spare room. No, there was no breakup. Just my girlfriend's mom really gets on my nerves, and I can't take it anymore.
Tomorrow, Imma go hang out with her, hence the early update. I don't wanna be worrying about posting, and risk pissing her off, when she's already unhappy with me for moving out in the first place.
So, due to my desire to avoid confrontation, you guys get a new chapter a little earlier than usual.
Next week I'll probably post on Saturday like usual, so don't get used to it!
Anyways, a lot of you are actually enjoying the 'travel chapters' more than I expected. They're essentially fillers, but I'm glad you all are liking them anyways. There's this one, in which some things come up that won't be covered until later, the next chapter, in which we meet one of my favorite characters, and then chapter 5 is where we officially hit crossover; actually in Avengers movie timeline and everything.
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Two days before he was to leave, he was woken in the middle of the night. It was pitch black, but someone was shaking his shoulder. He rolled over.
"Whazit?" He spoke sleepily. Whoever it was gave a shushing sound before speaking.
"Kuwa kimya." He blinked, his eyes, suited for darkness, finally adjusting to the night, and he looked up. It was the old shaman. He sat up and carefully moved Metis from her place on his chest to the fur he had laid his head on, wrapping part of it over her so she would be warm. "Nifuate." The man waved a hand towards himself, stepping away; towards the grass-covered entrance to the little house. He didn't know the word, but the meaning was clear, and he stood. He only had his pants and a pair of jeans on; having been sleeping and the armor being off with the goblins still. He moved towards his bag, but the shaman shook his head. "Kuacha mambo yako." He blinked, but continued to follow rather than dress. He glanced once back at the still sleeping Moo and his father, but chose not to wake them. He was barefoot, but the shaman and those of his tribe never wore shoes, so he figured it didn't matter.
When they came out of the hut, Harry saw several other members of the tribe, all of them men, some young, some grown, some old and grey, standing about and waiting for them; about twenty or twenty-five of them in all. A couple of them carried torches and the fires sent flickering shadows skittering about them. The shaman spoke to the men for a few moments; his words coming quick and sharp, and several of them nodded along, occasionally glancing at him. He felt nervous. Then the shaman turned back to him, and reached for his hands. He let the old man take them (his hands were wrinkled and calloused, but soft), unsure of what to do, and watched as the shaman studied the various jewelries he wore; then he pointed to the glamour band and looked up.
"Kukuondolea hayo." Harry stared at him, and he repeated the words, tugging at the band this time. Harry swallowed, and, eyeing the men nervously, took it off. The men shifted in place, whispers breaking out that stopped with a sharp look from the shaman. Then the old man smiled kindly at him, and took the band and tossed it back into the house they were staying in and began to walk away, motioning him to follow. So he and the men did. A few of them ran ahead of the old man, leading the way, others stayed behind. Harry himself tried to keep pace with the shaman, a couple others doing the same.
There was a worn trail leading through the grassy plains, and they followed it. The men didn't speak, and the only sounds were the crunching of dirt and thumps as they walked, the shifting of clothes with their movements, and the slight crackling of the burning torches. A bird called out in the distance, and Harry tried to swallow down his nerves and confusion. He wasn't sure what was happening, but there had been no malice in the old man's eyes, and more excitement and interest from the men at the sight of his glamourless form rather than anything else, so Harry was sure that whatever it was, it was okay. He looked out on the plains as they walked, but could see nothing but the waving grass and the occasional tree and brush. He hadn't really expected to see more, having already learned that most of the animals here used the environment to their benefit and hid so as not to be seen.
He looked upwards, and noted that the moon was full. It made him think of Remus and the twins, and he hoped that they were okay. He knew that Sirius used to change into an animagus to be with Remus during the moon, once he had escaped Azkaban. He had no one to do that now. The twins at least, had each other. Maybe Tonks was an animagus (her inner animal he had seen was a Labrador before he lost his ability to see them), but she would be busy looking after little Teddy. Still, he didn't worry too much. Remus had the money now to make sure he always got his potion, and he had been alone during all the time that Sirius had been in Azkaban, and had been alright; so far as Harry was aware. He felt a twinge of guilt when he thought of Remus. He hadn't seen the werewolf in some time...
He didn't know how long they had walked when he first saw what looked like rocks in the distance; in the direction they were going. It could have been no more than ten or fifteen minutes, or it could have been more than an hour, but when he looked behind him he could no longer see the village. Still, the path remained, old and well-trodden, and they stayed within the magical lands; never crossing back into the muggle world. He was sure, even if something were to happen, that he could follow the path to find his way back.
The rocks were thick and jagged, leering up on the horizon and looking rather out of place; as most stone here was light grey and brown while these were black as obsidian, but without its' shine. When they came up on them, they towered over him, some of them larger than buildings, and he noted that they looked in texture to be like granite. He also noted that they surrounded what appeared to be a cave, and was proven right when they descended into it.
The tunnel was dark; darker than outside as here they had only the torches rather than the light of the moon. It went downwards, and they found themselves going a bit faster for the ease of it. It was moments only, before they came into the cavern. It was about as big as the whole of the Dursley's home in size, the walls rounding upwards. He could tell it was made with magic, for they stood within a near-perfect orb of stone; the only openings being the one they came through, and a small hole, maybe two feet in diameter, in the center of the ceiling.
He knew its purpose looking down, for there was a pile of charred wood in the center of the floor directly beneath it. The rest of the room was empty; naught but dirt on the ground. A few of the men came forth, carrying wood, and piled it on top, and he watched for a moment as they began to prepare a fire the muggle way before the shaman pulled him aside. The old man tugged him by his shoulders, and made him sit down. He crossed his legs and the shaman sat down in front of him in the same position, so close their knees nearly touched. He was still nervous, and the shaman must have seen that, because he smiled at Harry comfortingly and the young man found some of his nerves fading away.
The shaman reached out, undoing the ponytail of his hair, and it was left falling around his face and shoulders. He blinked, but didn't question it. Then the man took something from a pouch at his hip; a little wooden bowl with a lid tied to it with string. Harry couldn't see what was in it when he opened it, but when the shaman dipped his fingers in they came away red. Then the fingers were touched to his cheek, and he tried very hard not to move. He didn't know what was happening, but he felt it was important. He was being included in something, and, whatever it was, it was likely something meant for the tribe only. He felt honored by the thought, being that he was an outsider here; and though it was a selfish thought, the knowledge that the shaman had called him along, and not Muhammad or Severus, made him feel a twinge of smug pride.
So he sat still, and let the man paint his skin. He didn't know what it was made of, but it dried quickly and felt strange against his face. First it felt sticky, and then when dried it just made him think of Aunt Petunia's garden, when the mud would dry on his hands and he would leave it till he was done. He thought the container might be magical, because sometimes the shaman's fingers came away from it red, and other times white. He painted Harry's cheeks, forehead, and chin. When he was done with the young man's face he moved to his neck, and then his shoulders and arms. His chest and stomach were next, occasionally tickling, and then he motioned for Harry to turn around so he could paint his back. He understood now why the shaman had had him leave his clothes. It hadn't even occurred to him; as the men of this tribe never wore anything on their torsos.
He looked at his arms as the man worked on his back. Every bit of skin not touched by his scales painted with spots and twisting patterns of white and red; more of the former than the latter. It was expertly done; perfectly even and masterfully designed. It was beautiful really. He felt the urge to fidget, but stomped it down, staying as still as he could until the old man was done. He chuckled a bit at the poke he received to tell him when that was, and turned around. The shaman shook his hand upwards to tell him to stand up, and another of the men took his place to be painted. He looked around. They had gotten the fire going, and it was steadily growing larger to become a bonfire, the smoke all being funneled out through the circular hole in the ceiling.
There were three men besides the shaman, all older, sitting around painting the others, though most were done already. They were all similar, but each design was unique to the individual, and Harry frowned. All of the men were only painted white, not white and red like him. He was the only one with the second paint, but he wasn't sure of the significance of it. Was it because he was an outsider? Or was it something else?
A small group of men were sitting around putting something together, and he came over to see if he could help. He motioned about for a moment, and they all smiled when they realized what he was asking. They were using magic, manipulating it rawly, to put together drums, and they demonstrated how to do it a couple times before they let him try. It wasn't as hard to manipulate his magic without spells as he had thought it would be, though he didn't think he would be able to do anything big with it. But making rings of wood stick together to form a topless and bottomless barrel, and then forcing a thick piece of... something... white tightly over it while threading bits of what was probably the hide of some animal (if the fur on the string-like strips was any indication) through holes to strap it tight to the thing, was within his abilities at least. They made several of them, maybe ten or so, and by the time they were done most of the men were sitting around the fire, though the shaman stood watching them with a smile on his face and a hint of pride in his eyes. Harry looked downwards with a blush, feeling embarrassed without understanding why.
He followed the men over to the fire, helping to carry the drums until they were passed around to whoever they were meant for. He noticed for the first time the way the voices of those in muted conversations bounced off the walls in haunting echoes. The shaman directed him to sit close to where he stood, and everyone settled about in a circle around the fire. Five men remained standing, aside from the shaman himself. Harry was sat between a man holding one of the drums in his lap, and another holding something else that Harry thought was also an instrument. It was a strange thing. A strip of wood with a hole in near the end like the one on a guitar, and a rise of wood on the other end that had ten prongs pinned to it by another strip of wood, and going until they rested over the hole. He thought they might be made of metal, maybe a brass or copper for the color, but he wasn't sure, and he wondered what it sounded like. He noticed a man a little farther down holding things in his hands that were bulbous on the ends with handles that curved. They looked like they had maybe once been some sort of plant. Were they another kind of instrument?
The shaman addressed the men, and Harry mourned that he couldn't understand the words. Mitera's presence felt stronger than normal. He waited as they all listened, silence descending among them. A few men shifted into different positions at the old man's direction. Then everyone seemed to adjust their instruments and the standing men all settled around the fire in various positions, making a sort of line of themselves between the fire and those who were sitting. Everyone with an instrument moved their hands over them; ready to play, and the shaman went silent and raised his hands.
Harry shivered, feeling as the magic settled over them all like a shroud. It didn't do anything in particular, it was just there. The shaman's magic made him think of laying on the boulder near the village or back on the roof of the barn on Mahdi's farm and soaking in the sun. It was warm and strong, and pleasant with the ability to become unpleasant should he want it to. But it was more than that. It wasn't just the sun's warmth, it was green green grass under your toes and the feeling of fur on your skin. Harry swallowed, and grew tense, ready; he knew something was going to happen now. Then the shaman spoke; his voice louder than it had been a moment ago, and echoing eerily off the cavern walls.
"Dunia sisi kukuita. Kusikia sisi na kuja. Dunia sisi kukuita. Kusikia sisi na kuja. Dunia sisi kukuita. Kusikia sisi na kuja. Kusikiliza ibada yetu miongoni mwenu." His magic didn't change, but Mitera's presence in his mind shifted; her attention on him, on the shaman, on the cavern, as it had not really been before. He knew she had been called for, and she had answered.
Then the first man smacked his drum, the sound booming, and another man followed, and another, until they were all drumming, a slow, steady beat. The sounds echoed off the walls and burst through his chest like tangible things; pounding and echoing in his mind. He found his heart beating a little harder. The standing men started swaying from side to side, their arms out before them and the simple movement in time to the drums. The shaman closed his eyes, smiled, opened them again, and began to sing, slow and deep and clear.
"Kutoka kwenu sisi ni kuzaliwa." As soon as he started the swaying men began moving; stomping on the ground in time with the drums and shifting their bodies to slowly face away from the fire in what could have been a line. "Wewe sisi kwenda katika kifo." They started marching around the fire, bending their legs far so they were almost on one knee with each step, their torsos angled forwards. "Wewe kutupa chakula chetu." The drums sped up, ever so slightly, he might not have noticed it without his adept hearing. A second sound joined them at the same time; a rattling sort of sound not unlike a maraca. The bulbous plant things seemed to be instruments after all. "Wewe kutupa majumbani mwetu." They sped up more noticeably this time, and Harry couldn't think anymore. Mitera's presence was like a physical pressure in back of his mind, and the sound of the booming drums was powerful; it drowned out everything else like a tidal wave. "Wewe kutupa wake zetu na watoto." The marching (dancing, his mind whispered, but was that really his mind?) began throwing their hands up and down. Harry's heart was beating in time with the drums. "Kutoka kwenu sisi kuwa damu." The dancing men started a chant of 'mama dunia', each chant in between the drums and keeping to the rhythm. "Kutoka kwenu tuna mioyo." A note twanged through the air; like a cross between a note from a guitar and a piano, and he knew it came from the strange pronged instrument only because it was strong from next to him, where one of the men had it. It was joined by other notes as the shaman continued. His mind felt murky, as though his thoughts were moving through thick sludge. "Kutoka kwenu sisi kuwa nafsi." There was proper music now, and the movements of the dancing men became a bit more complex. Some beats they twisted, some beats they leaped, some they stomp-marched like they had been. "Kutoka kwenu sisi kuwa uchawi." Harry's eyes were drawn to the fire as he could see it between the dancing men's motions. Some of the sitting men had begun chanting too. "Basi sisi kuimba kwa ajili yenu." His eyes were trapped on the fire, on the way it seemed to pulse in time with the drums. Without thought, his own mouth opened, his voice joining in the song of 'mama dunia' with the others. Somewhere his magic was singing too. "Basi sisi ngoma kwa ajili yenu." He wasn't really aware of stumbling to his feet and going forward, but then he was dancing with the other men. There were others too, who had joined. Anyone who didn't have an instrument was dancing now. His limbs moved in time with the others; outside of his own control. If he would think, it might have alarmed him. "Basi sisi kufanya muziki kwa ajili yenu." There was nothing but the music for him. Nothing but the drums and the rattles and the tinging notes. Nothing but the singing shaman and the chanting men. Nothing but the magic. "Basi sisi asante." He felt like there was a bang around him, a chain wrapped tightly around his body. Then the shaman started all over again, and he ceased to exist.
They could have danced for an hour, they could have danced all night, but eventually, there was darkness.
Even then, the song didn't stop.
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When Harry woke up they were still in the cave. He groaned and pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes. Then he blinked, and looked up. The shaman sat nearby, watching him, and he gasped at the sight of him, or rather, at the sight of the large, ghostly, golden bird perched next to him. The beauty of it made him think of a Phoenix; the tail feathers too, were reminiscent of one. Its body, though, was more like an eagle than anything else. He stared at it, for a moment thinking it real, but realized he could see through it. His eyes widened, and he looked around. All about him, the other men were still sleeping, but near each of them was a ghostly creature of some form. He grinned, and then looked at the shaman, who was watching him with a bright smile.
"How?" He gasped, but the shaman didn't answer. He didn't speak English, Harry knew. But he waved the young man over, and Harry scooted across the floor until he was close. The old man reached over and pulled a bag from behind him, and began to shift about in it. He pulled out a feather, and Harry stared at it. It was long, a tail feather he thought, and he knew it had come from the shaman's animagus form. The old man held it out to him, and he ran a finger along it gently. It felt like any other feather, but golden magic sparked along his fingers when he touched it, and it glowed softly even in the dark cave; the only other light coming from the dying fire and pale sunlight filtering through the hole in the top of the cave. The shaman pulled it away from his hand, and motioned him to turn around.
He obeyed, and felt as the shaman gathered up his hair, running weathered hands through it to break out the tangles. He kept still, just as he had when the old man had painted him. His hair was manipulated, and there was an occasional pause. He wasn't sure what was being done to his hair, but he trusted the shaman. The old man had, somehow, perhaps through the dance of the night before, returned the power to him that he had lost. He was tapped on the shoulder when he was done, and when he felt behind him he could feel a braid with things woven into it. Beads maybe? And the feather too, near the bottom of the braid. He turned and smiled at the old man, and he gave a wrinkled, yellow-toothed smile back.
He pulled something else from his pack then; a rolled up hide of fur. He unrolled it along the ground, fur down, and the leathery inside was covered in symbols. He pointed to one, a sort of swirl with a spike near the top.
"Moto." He said, and pointed from it to the fire. He repeated the motions once, and Harry nodded.
"Fire." The old man grinned, and pointed to the next symbol, and Harry understood that he was being taught African runes (or at least, the ones of this particular tribe). He was filled with joy at the prospect of more knowledge in his chosen field, and listened raptly, carefully taking in each nature-based symbol and the words that represented them in the shaman's natural tongue.
They continued the lessons until the other men were all awake, and then the shaman wrapped the fur hide back up and gave it to him, and they returned to the village.
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Severus and Muhammad had been waiting for him on the outskirts of the village, angry and worried. Upon seeing him, they could tell he was fine, but could also tell, from the fading patterns of paint, the lack of glamours, and his braided hair, that something important had happened. He only told them that the shaman had begun teaching him, but said nothing about the firedance that had taken place. Muhammad shrugged and offered him a cigarette. His father eyed him speculatively, but didn't press him, for which he was thankful.
Metis, on the other hand, was rather cross with him, and wrapped herself about his shoulders and refused to move. He just sighed and let her, and began to work around the village as before, though without a shirt now, since she got in the way whenever he tried, and none of the other men wore tops anyways. The villagers had never seen the serpent before, and he caught whispers of the word 'Ilomba'. He wondered if that meant snake.
Still, life returned to what it had been since they first came to the village, with Harry explaining that he would be leaving for about a week soon, until the day he was to go. He hugged Sev and Moo goodbye, waved to the shaman and the other people in the village, gathered his things, and went out near the boulder with the little round stone that had been made a portkey.
A few minutes later, the dreaded hook grabbed him around the stomach and pulled.
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He still hated India. He hated the way it made him feel guilty. He hated the way he could do nothing for its' people, unable to use magic to help the muggles starving in the streets (for the government would be after him for it), unable to give them money (for even if he gave enough to leave himself penniless, children would still starve), unable to heal the wounded and sick like Bruce (he knew nothing of muggle doctoring, and had little skill with healing spells). He hated the way this country made him feel so useless.
But for now, he could ignore that, because he had found the tiny little room Bruce was renting and knocked, and now he was hugging his brother. How could you miss someone so much after just a month? Bruce pulled back with a grin, and Harry eyed the ghostly green form of the Hulk standing behind him. He had long since learned that he saw nothing around muggles, though Squibs at least seemed to have these animals. Yet here was the Hulk, or a representation of it at least, watching him with a smile that looked odd and animalistic on its' face. Then it was gone, Harry pushing the ability down, understanding as he did now how to control it, and his eyes landed back on Bruce (the Doctor having not even noticed his inattention) as he began speaking.
"It's good to see you. Come on in." Harry smiled and did just that. "It's a little small." Indeed it was. It was a tiny flat, all one room. On his left was a counter spanning part of the wall, with a couple tiny appliances and a half-sized fridge. There was a little round table with two chairs near one of the counters. To his right was a box with a tiny square television sitting on it, an old radio sitting atop that. There was a door on that wall also, which, upon sight of the twin mattress, blankets and pillows thrown haphazardly atop it against the wall across from him, Harry determined led to the bathroom. There were some dirty plates on the table, and some books. There were books all over the place in fact, and papers covered in notes. Some had fallen to the floor, and even as he looked about Bruce was gathering these up with an embarrassed expression. "You can take the bed." He offered, but Harry shook his head.
"Nah, I'll sleep on the couch." He threw his backpack on said furniture, old and patterned and cloth fraying at the bottom. There was a window over the bed, and Harry walked over to it. He looked out, down at the street filled with tiny stands and many many people, and closed the blinds and threadbare curtains. Without the sunlight the room was much darker, having only a single lamp on a little trunk at the end of the mattress to light the place, and it was dim; but Harry prefered a darkened room to being able to see the world outside here.
"You okay?" He turned back around. Bruce was looking at him in concern.
"I'm fine." It was true, mostly anyways. Bruce looked unconvinced, but he nodded.
"What's that?"
"Hmm?"
"In your hair."
"Oh." Harry tugged the braid over his shoulder. It was just long enough that he could keep it over his shoulder like this, so long as he didn't turn his head. "It's a feather. Imamu gave it to me."
"Imamu?"
"The shaman."
"Oh." He touched the feather with a frown. "It looks... Is it magic?" Harry chuckled.
"Yes." He looked like a child in a candy store.
"How is it magical? Does it do anything special? What does it come from?"
And the awkwardness was gone.
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"I don't know if this is the best idea Harry."
"Why not? You're family, and so are they, and I want you to meet them."
"But what about," Bruce paused, voice dropping. "what about the 'other guy'?" Harry sighed.
"It'll be fine."
"And if I lose control?"
"You won't. Mahdi wouldn't have let you go if he thought you couldn't control yourself." They stared hard at one another for several moments, and then finally Bruce looked away with a sigh.
"What about... I thought you couldn't use magic in front of me because of the government? Isn't this Burrow place magical? Won't you get in trouble?" Harry smiled.
"That's why the portkey isn't taking us to the Burrow." Bruce frowned.
"I thought you said-"
"I lied. It's taking us to Gringotts."
"That's... The goblin bank right?"
"The wizarding bank, run by goblins."
"Oh... But why-"
"Because I'm adopting you." Bruce blinked at him, and then his eyes widened.
"What?!" His voice was low and cracked; filled with surprise. Harry rolled his eyes.
"I'm adopting you as a ward of the Black family. That way, you'll be considered a part of my family legally, and so long as I pay a few fees, we can have you put on record as a squib, so I can use magic around you, and not get into any trouble. I asked Grimrok about it."
"But I'm not-"
"But no one knows that, and we can make records to ensure no one finds out." Bruce blinked.
"Don't I get a say in this?"
"Do you not want to?"
"Well, no, but..." He sighed. "Nevermind. So, do I have to change my name?"
"Not if you don't want to." Bruce looked thoughtful.
"Alright..." Harry smiled.
"I just..." Bruce looked up at him. "I told you, you're family. This will just make it official, so I can show you, well, everything. I want to show you Hogwarts, and Bogdon, and introduce you to everyone, and show you the runes and spells and everything I've told you about, even if you can't do magic yourself. I want to share it with you, like I can with Sev and Moo and Fred and George and Bill and-"
"I get it, I get." Bruce waved a hand with a chuckle, and then looked at him with a smile. "You're sure about this?" Harry grinned and nodded, and Bruce rubbed the back of his neck.
"Well, I guess I don't have much choice then." Then his eyes lit up. "I can study magic properly now!"
And Harry laughed, because the only problem Bruce had ever had with magic thus far was that he couldn't watch Harry use it to study how it worked and experiment with it.
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Harry watched as Bruce babbled endless questions at Grimrok about goblins. When he had started up, Harry had expected the goblin to be annoyed, as he usually was when he felt Harry was asking him a question he thought the young man should have already known the answer to. Instead, he actually seemed pleased, and the initial disgusted expression he had given upon meeting Bruce (knowing as he did that Bruce was a muggle) had vanished entirely when Bruce began asking questions to be replaced first by what looked like bewilderment, and then a sort of smugness. He answered Bruce's insistent but polite questions with detailed answers as they waited in the circular room for another goblin to bring the paperwork along, rather than Grimrok fetching it all himself as he usually would have done.
"What about sunlight? Humans need a certain amount of sunlight to keep from getting vitamin deficiencies, but you said most of your people live underground...?"
"We don't require much sunlight, too much is actually detrimental to our health unless we've been around it from a young age."
"I see, so how do you make up for the vitamins it provides? Or do you not need those?"
"It's in our diet. Most of the cave-dwelling animals we prefer to eat make up for the vitamins we would usually gain from sunlight. Those who've lived in sun their whole lives often have different diets as a result."
"Hmm, and you said too much is detrimental to your health?"
"Yes. We don't have the proper skin-structure to-" They were interrupted by the arrival of a tannish goblin of a young age (or at least he looked young to Harry) who was carrying a large stack of paperwork. Grimrok grunted, sitting up in his seat, and Bruce turned back towards the table, expression slightly put-out as he understood that it was time to get down to business. Grimrok took the papers, the young goblin shuffling out quickly, and began to shift through them before pulling a small set out and sliding it across the table towards Harry. "You should read through that and sign the bottom, Lord Black."
"What is this?" Harry pulled the small packet into his hands.
"It's a simplified version of what's expected of you. As you intend to adopt Dr. Banner as a ward of the Black family, you are thus responsible for him. As head of the family it is your job to keep him out of trouble, to supply representation should you fail in that manner, and to provide enough money during times of unemployment to pay for basic necessities. You are to provide entrance into any of your properties should it be needed, as well as the means to travel to them in times of emergency. You're responsible for any needed medical attention, whether through the use of a private healer or a stay in a public hospital, muggle or magical in nature. You are also responsible for any betrothal or marriage contracts that may take place with other noble families. You're to sign it to ensure you are aware and accepting of what's expected of you in this capacity."
"Marriage contracts?!" Bruce squeaked. They both ignored him while Harry listened to Grimrok with half an ear and scanned through the page. He trusted Grimrok enough to not feel the need to search for extra clauses or the sort. He signed the paper with a steady hand, his signature just as messy as ever. He never had been able to improve his handwriting, no matter how easily and beautifully his runes and seals (and the occasional drawing) came out when he created them. He handed the paper back to Grimrok and took the next thing, a single page this time that the goblin explained before he could ask.
"Certification of Dr. Banner's induction as your ward." Harry glanced through it once before signing. The next paper was for Bruce. "Certification that you are a willing ward." Harry felt a curl of warmth when the doctor signed it without hesitation or even reading through it. Grimrok pulled out one more paper, and paused. "Do you intend to change your surname to reflect your status as a member of the Black family?"
"Um,"
"You may keep your surname as it is, you may hyphen it, or you may change it entirely. If you choose to change it, the change would only be reflected in future magical documentation, and previous or future documentation in the muggle world will continue to list you as Robert Banner." Harry blinked.
"Robert?" Bruce looked sheepish.
"It's my first name, Bruce is my middle." He shrugged. "I've never really been fond of my first name." He looked at Grimrok. "Would I be able to change my first name as well?"
"If you'd like."
"Then I'd like it to be Bruce. Bruce Black, I guess. That sounds so strange..." He mumbled the last bit, and Harry's lip twitched. Grimrok nodded and handed him the paper. He pointed at it.
"Sign your previous name here, and your new name there." He did so, and the page was passed to Harry. "Sign here as a witness to the official name change." And then it was done. Grimrok waved a hand, and then there were six copies of each. He gathered up four of them, and then passed one of the last two to Harry and Bruce each. "I'll get these filed, and then it's settled." He shook Bruce's hand. "Congratulations Dr. Black."
"Thanks." Harry and Bruce both grinned as he left.
"So..."
"So..." Harry chuckled. "It's official now." He nodded.
"Yep." Bruce's smile was dopey and Harry couldn't help but laugh at him, even when Bruce punched his shoulder for it.
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"Harry! Oh look at you! You've grown so much!" Harry chuckled as he was pulled into a bear hug. He was taller than Mum now at least. He hugged her back with a grin.
"Harry!"
"Our black-haired brother!"
"The only honorary Weasley!" Mum was bustled out of the way as the twins descended.
"We've missed you!" He laughed and wrapped an arm around each of them as he was pinned between the two.
"Good to see you guys." He said quietly, and they squeezed him tighter for a moment before pulling away. He looked carefully at them. They seemed to have gotten passed their mourning; their hair was the same length again, shorter overall than they used to keep it.
"Harry!" Fred and George were reluctant in pulling away as Ginny came over. She hugged him with one arm, the other occupied with holding her tiny toddler against her hip. Ginny kissed him on the cheek and pulled away, and he smiled at her and his goddaughter. She looked at him with big shining brown eyes, one hand in her mouth and wispy red baby hair pulled up into a tiny ponytail that curled atop almost the middle of her head.
"Hey Gin. Hi Rose." He reached out his hand and she grabbed onto it, pulling it up to her mouth in place of her own while making excited little nonsense sounds. He chuckled and tried to keep his fingers from her mouth, but let her suck on one of his knuckles. He wasn't sure if his glamoured claws could hurt her or not. Ginny smiled brightly, and was handing Rose to him before he could protest. He flailed a bit before he managed to get a proper grip on her, holding her against his hip like Ginny had been before. She laughed at the uncomfortable look on his face. It wasn't his fault he'd never held a baby before!
"Who're you?" He looked up. Ron stood there, Hermione at his side. He had grown even taller, and towered over Harry. He was looking over his shoulder though, not at him. Hermione smiled at him, and he noted the hand she kept on her stomach, which was more than a bit distended. Another Weasley on the way then. He turned to look at Bruce, who stood behind him with a nervous, uncomfortable expression on his face. He smiled at him and pulled him forward by the arm with the hand not occupied by Rose. He looked from him to the Weasleys (Bill and Dad being absent at the moment, the former still in Egypt and the latter likely at work).
"Everyone, this is Bruce. I... Well, I more or less adopted him as my brother, so he's family." Immediately Mum smiled welcomingly and came to give him a hug. Harry laughed at the startled look on his face.
"Welcome to the Burrow, dearie." She offered, pulled away enough to hold his arms and smile at him. He flushed and smiled back, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.
"Er, uh, thank you."
"I'm Molly." He relaxed a bit.
"Nice to meet you." Bruce jumped as the twins came up on either side of him and each swung an arm around his shoulders.
"Well hello there." George started.
"Nice to finally meet you."
"Harry's told us so much-"
"In his letters."
"I'm George, and my dearest twin here-"
"Is Fred. Welcome to the family brother." Bruce blinked rapidly, not seeming to know what to think of this, and muttered a thanks before looking at the others. Ron stepped forward. He smiled at Harry, and Harry smiled back. He and Ron would likely never be close again, but their past animosity was behind them now, and they were still family. He put a hand out at Bruce, who took it and began to shake automatically.
"I'm Ron, and this is my wife Hermione." Said witch smiled brightly at him.
"Bruce. Nice to meet you both." Ginny was next, and like her mother she hugged him.
"I'm Ginny. Thanks for looking out for this idiot." She pointed a thumb at Harry.
"Oi!"
"You're welcome."
"Well come on now everyone! Come inside! I've almost finished with Dinner." Harry practically moaned at the thought of Mum's cooking.
He caught Bruce's eye before they went in, and found he didn't look so uncomfortable anymore.
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"Maybe he never had any nestmates."
"I don't know. He's never mentioned any siblings, or his childhood at all for that matter..."
"He does not speak of his time as a youngling?"
"No."
"Perhaps it was as unpleasant as your own time as a youngling, little brother."
"Maybe. Since when am I little brother? Didn't you used to call me big brother? Aren't I older than you?"
"Hmph. Yes, but you are so small now. I am much bigger than you when you take off my crown."
"It's not a crown. It's a size-suppression band."
"It is a crown. For I am a queen." Metis drew herself up proudly on the bed, and Harry snorted.
"Very well then. Queen Metis." She twisted a bit in an imitation of the way she used to dance, something she did not do often anymore, and then slithered up to curl into a coil on his pillow. He watched her settle down and fall asleep almost at once with an expression of bemusement.
He let himself fall back, so that he lay half on the bed with his feet dangling off the edge. The twins had left for the night, as had Ron and Hermione. Ginny, Dean, and Rose were still here, living up in her room for the time being. Gin was still new to motherhood, and Dean worked hard to support them. They planned to stay here until they could afford to go out on their own, and his sister was sure she no longer needed so much of Mum's help with the baby. Bruce was in Percy's old room, and he was staying in Bill's old one. He almost wished the house was still packed, so that they could bunk together, but the privacy was appreciated. He could hardly remember the last time he had been alone, much less alone while the world settled into rest.
He stared up at the cracked wooden ceiling of the burrow with a smile. He loved it here, truly he did. He could imagine living here, for a time, with his family, but he could never stay long-term. He had this restlessness in his bones, this urge to move and go and do. He was fine in Africa right now, the restlessness not so bad there, but it was only a matter of time before it kicked up again and they would start to travel once more. No, he couldn't live at the burrow. Maybe one day, but he doubted it. He imagined that wherever he eventually chose to settle down, he would have his Father and Muhammad, and maybe Bruce or the twins there with him. He could never ask his Father to live alone. He had been alone for so much of his life, and he seemed so much happier during their travels than Harry had ever seen him at Hogwarts.
Father couldn't return to Europe, not with everyone out for his head. So Harry could never live here either. He could visit, yes, nothing stopped him from that, but he could never stay here and condemn Sev to some dreary place all by himself. He rolled onto his side and pulled his legs up onto the bed. Beyond that, the twins and Ginny were the only Weasleys who knew about his true form. They were the only ones to have seen and accepted the horns and scales and tail, and all that came with them. He couldn't risk Mum or Dad finding out and not accepting him. They were so against all things dark, easily falling into the category of people who saw no difference between dark and evil.
Merlin he loved them, but they were ignorant about some things, and he couldn't bear the thought of them knowing such truths.
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Harry smiled in his place in the corner. The twins were sitting near Bruce, and the three were chatting happily, discussing various workings of potions and the intricacies of transfiguration, as those were things that Harry knew very little about, and thus had been unable to teach Bruce about. Severus had told him a bit, but he didn't have the patience for all of his questions. He was listening avidly, attention flicking from one to the other as they spoke and fully engrossed in their words; interrupting only to fire off questions. Ginny was on the other side of the room, feeding Rose from a bottle, her husband sitting next to them and watching the two with a soft expression and love in his eyes. Occasionally the two would speak quietly to one another, and there seemed to be a bubble of peace around the three that Harry was loathe to pop. Mum was in the kitchen, the sounds of clanking pans and chopping knives occasionally hitting his ears, and the smell of something warm and good filling the whole house. All in all, the Burrow was still filled with as much love and contentment as ever, if not nearly so much noise.
"It's not the same, is it?" He started a bit, and looked up. He had been so caught up in his musings, he hadn't really noticed Dad come in and lean against the wall near Harry's seat.
"No." He replied. "But it's still as wonderful to me as ever." Dad smiled at him, and he noted the wrinkles around his eyes, and the grey growing into his hair. When had he become so old?
"I don't think it would be the Burrow anymore if it wasn't wonderful." Harry chuckled, agreeing wholeheartedly. "I just wish..." He paused, and the smile slipped from Harry's face at the sight of his saddened expression. "It feels so much more empty now. With everyone but Ginny all moved away, and Charlie and Percy-" He stopped abruptly, his eyes looking to have a bit more shine to them than normally. Harry stood up, and hugged him. He jerked, and the young man would have chuckled at how startled he seemed. It occurred to him only now that he had never hugged his dad before. His willingness to accept, and initiate, physical comfort was a relatively recent development.
"I understand." And he did, because nothing would ever be the same. Even with the war over, and Voldemort dead now, life would never be what it once was. Dad sucked in a shaky breath, and hugged him back.
Harry noticed how quiet it was now, and realized that everyone had stopped speaking, and Mum had stopped moving about in the kitchen, but when he pulled away from Dad, the noise started up again, and he convinced himself for a moment that everything was just as it had been that first time he'd ever come to the Burrow.
Even if it wasn't true.
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Nope. Not gonna translate the shaman scene for you. Harry has no idea what the words meant, so I'm not telling you either.
Especially since I used Google translate, which isn't always accurate. I'm sure, even though the English translated this, if I translate it back again, it'll be all weird. Also, it's Swahili, since that's the only language I felt would have a closer fit, and I couldn't find a translator for any other African languages, and I didn't want to build a conlang for one scene.
Also, the mention of ilomba near the middle of the chapter: ilomba is a mythical sea serpent, basically. And yes, Metis is supposed to be a sea snake, which is why Harry's never found any info on her. She's just weird, which is why she lives on land. No, she's not Jormungandr, though I considered it at one point. She was, after all, just a baby when Harry first got her, and Jorm has been around a couple thousand years.
Moving on...
Oh! Hey! I visit home. And a thingy! With papers! And stuff!
Not explaining. Nope. Not a thing.
...
I just couldn't help myself!
Ahem.
Anyways...
I'll see you all next week. Have a great weekend everyone.
Sincerely,
Mr. Hate